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I may have stated this before, and if so my deepest apologizes, but one of the best aspects of my job is that I get paid to watch life happen.
Everyday I come into work and sit down at my desk. I go through a handful of emails, type up a couple of stories as well as make a few phone calls and then I’m right back out the door.
With a camera on my back and a notebook in hand, I set off for whatever game or event I’m asked to attend. The first step out of our air-conditioned building often delivers a slap to my face with the hot, summer humidity providing the power.
Yet, it’s a good slap. A refreshing wake-up call that sets me free from the digital jail cell I’ve faced.
Last week, my assignments had a central theme — American Legion baseball. Every night I drove the five miles to Sportsfield or the 15 minutes to Lansing High to catch a game.
I have the travel times down pat so I often show up right at first pitch. Upon arriving, I quietly stroll to a foul line to take the evening’s pictures.
I’ll snap anywhere between 30-60 photos a game, but only 10-15 actually turn out printable and that doesn’t mean they all look good. Thus, in the end I come out with around three to eight quality photos.
This photography process fluctuates, lasting from two innings to at times the entire game, depending on what sort of luck I have that day. After photos, I try to find a nice place in the shade to sit and record the rest of the contest.
It’s during this time last week that I again realized why I wanted to this job so badly growing up — and it certainly wasn’t for the pay.
No, I’ve always been attracted to watching the world around me. I feel that if you can slow down life, fully soak in your surroundings for a few seconds daily, you will appreciate everything much more.
For the first time in awhile I slowed down time, and it just so happen I was attending an American Legion baseball game.
Maybe it was due to the fourth straight night of covering a game, or perhaps it was the unexpected breeze that cooled my sweltering forehead.
But whatever the reason, I found myself sitting on the bottom row of a hard, steel bleacher right in the middle of Sportsfield, enjoying a baseball game in which I had no attachment at all.
I may have stated this before, and if so my deepest apologizes, but one of the best aspects of my job is that I get paid to watch life happen.
Everyday I come into work and sit down at my desk. I go through a handful of emails, type up a couple of stories as well as make a few phone calls and then I’m right back out the door.
With a camera on my back and a notebook in hand, I set off for whatever game or event I’m asked to attend. The first step out of our air-conditioned building often delivers a slap to my face with the hot, summer humidity providing the power.
Yet, it’s a good slap. A refreshing wake-up call that sets me free from the digital jail cell I’ve faced.
Last week, my assignments had a central theme — American Legion baseball. Every night I drove the five miles to Sportsfield or the 15 minutes to Lansing High to catch a game.
I have the travel times down pat so I often show up right at first pitch. Upon arriving, I quietly stroll to a foul line to take the evening’s pictures.
I’ll snap anywhere between 30-60 photos a game, but only 10-15 actually turn out printable and that doesn’t mean they all look good. Thus, in the end I come out with around three to eight quality photos.
This photography process fluctuates, lasting from two innings to at times the entire game, depending on what sort of luck I have that day. After photos, I try to find a nice place in the shade to sit and record the rest of the contest.
It’s during this time last week that I again realized why I wanted to this job so badly growing up — and it certainly wasn’t for the pay.
No, I’ve always been attracted to watching the world around me. I feel that if you can slow down life, fully soak in your surroundings for a few seconds daily, you will appreciate everything much more.
For the first time in awhile I slowed down time, and it just so happen I was attending an American Legion baseball game.
Maybe it was due to the fourth straight night of covering a game, or perhaps it was the unexpected breeze that cooled my sweltering forehead.
But whatever the reason, I found myself sitting on the bottom row of a hard, steel bleacher right in the middle of Sportsfield, enjoying a baseball game in which I had no attachment at all.
It was delightful.
I was watching teenage ballplayers having fun playing a game they, and I, love. The kids were smiling, hustling and even though there were errors made, not one player ever shouted, pouted or saw their world come crashing down.
It was a pure moment.
They were playing baseball, and whether they won or lost, it truly meant nothing in the grand scheme of their lives. It was just fun to play.
And that’s when it hit me why American Legion baseball is special.
Legion is a great organization in that it serves the purpose of developing and extending the baseball experience for children, teenagers and parents. The league is about teaching the game of baseball and how to play it the right way.
They keep score, so it’s also about competition, but I think a great aspect of the league is that the importance of winning a Legion championship isn’t that high on anyone’s priority list.
Don’t get me wrong, we all want to win whenever we compete, but at the end of the day it’s just a game. Thus, the real beauty of American Legion baseball is that the kids get to play the game carefree.
There is a lot less stress, anxiety and pressure involved than on high school or traveling baseball teams. Legion ball is special because it’s fun.
This was all swirling through my head while I’m watching a rather entertaining contest when I hear a loud shout.
The roar comes from my right in the adjacent ball field where I see an adult, a coach I assume, adamantly flaying his arms. In between the grandiose flaps I hear barks of complaints directed at a pair of umpires trying to calm him down.
I can’t make out what he is mad about, but it’s obvious he was not happy with a call.
While little sluggers from both teams shuffling around the quarrel, I have no clue what age but I would guess 8-10 years old, this middle-age man continues to make a scene. Some boys stop and look up, others try to avoid the confrontation all together.
Eventually another coach comes over and calmly joins the discussion. A few more moments of apprehensive speech and the two finally return to the dugout. The world indeed did not end.
Before returning back to my own duties I take one final look at the coach who just had a full-fledged temper tantrum on the field. He is complaining in the dugout to some other adult, and presumably to any one who will listen.
Why do adults do this? Why do they have to make such a scene over something so minor as a questionable call in a little league baseball game?
I have no clue what the outcome or circumstances behind that particular blow up were, but I couldn’t help but think of how many times I have seen this in my life.
So many times I’ve watched adults simply go nuts over an umpire’s call, cause a fight and taint the game for the kids. The worst is that these grown-ups act like it’s the worst thing to ever happen. Bad calls are made all the time and in way more important situations than at a little league diamond in Leavenworth, Kan.
Also, does making a scene fix anything? Does it do anything besides ruin the experience for the people to whom it really matters, the children?
Just watching this adult struck a nerve in me and as I turned back to the game I was covering, it stuck in my craw.
Why ruin the purity of little league baseball because a single judgment call didn’t go his way? Let’s say, for conversational purposes, it was one of many bad calls in that game. Is it OK now to make a huge raucous?
I know the answer to all these questions — No, of course it doesn’t matter. This is little league for goodness sake. It’s about the kids having fun.
Let me say that again, it’s about the kids having fun.
So if you are one of those parents who has to shout over every bad call, or must right an unjustified wrong for the good of the children, please take a moment and think of what you are about to do.
This isn’t the pros, nor the collegiate or even high school ranks. It’s summer baseball, a special time for the very children you think you are arguing for, and your ruining it.
As I finally tried to refocus on the game I was originally watching, one last thing jumped in my head.
The best parts of this job can also be the worst.
